


ours is a quieter worship, more commiseration than awe

by lovetheory



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: A love letter to Hinata Shōyō, Character Study, Introspection, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:49:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24605719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovetheory/pseuds/lovetheory
Summary: Shōyō's eyes are ablaze, lit by a fiery hunger for the world, like he wants it to swallow him whole, like it's a monstrous thing he wants to explore the heart of from within. Atsumu holds his breath when he's visited by the impression that he would let the flames engulf him.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Miya Atsumu
Comments: 12
Kudos: 61





	ours is a quieter worship, more commiseration than awe

**Author's Note:**

> entry for [atsuhina week 2020](https://twitter.com/atsuhinaweek) day 3 prompt 2: mutual pining.
> 
> title taken from 'religion' by alvin pang.

Atsumu thinks in fragments. Piecing them together takes time. His first thought about Shōyō is 'sunlight'. The younger exudes a distinct warmth, intensified by the orange of his hair. He looks like a story that's been told a thousand times and the sound of that doesn't quite appeal to Atsumu, doesn't quite like the banal shift of his thoughts, wants to tell a new story. The thing is: Shōyō's eyes are ablaze, lit by a fiery hunger for the world, like he wants it to swallow him whole, like it's a monstrous thing he wants to explore the heart of from within. Atsumu holds his breath when he's visited by the impression that he would let the flames engulf him. When Shōyō directs all that light to him, he finds himself blinded by it. A ruination. Or, is it transfiguration? There are so many different ways to put it. All concludes in rapture. He feels elated about all this attention being directed to him by someone so glorious and resplendent and how does it feel to be seen? To be something to believe in? The question forms on his tongue in the middle of their walk home from practice one wintry night.

It's not often that he encourages introspection, but the scarf around his neck feels comfy and his fists in their gloves are nicely tucked into the pockets of his coat; he just wants to live a little longer in the undemanding, soft sensation with Shōyō right by his side, and without the question of how far apart setters and wing spikers should be in the court.

The younger glances at him, then does a double take. "Huh? Oh-," he stutters, "it feels like everything is coming together. It feels right, er," he blushes. Atsumu can feel it radiate off him, sincerity blooming on his cheeks behind a scarf of his own. "I don't wish to be egotistical, but that's what my heart tells me."

"Yeah, I get ya," Atsumu thinks aloud, voice as soft as it can get. And this, this he keeps to himself: _That's how I feel when ya look at me and spike for me, Shōyō._ Seen and understood and trusted. His heart is in his mouth and he exhales around it, where it rests on his tongue. "Feels good, natural. Like ya earned it. Something big, the power in yer hands now."

And is it not the truth? That Shōyō earns all the love and respect through the long haul? That his passion for volleyball is rooted in growth, in being good at something because he can despite the odds? This, Atsumu fiercely acknowledges and admires. He’s heard the stories of Shōyō having to prove himself over and over again, of climbing mountains for the sheer pleasure of reaching the top, always accompanied by the possibility of it. Because he can. _He can_ _._ At some point, Atsumu came to tell these stories to himself, and in one instance, had fallen in love with one of them, which is a part of Shōyō, which is Shōyō. He had fallen in love with Shōyō because he had come to understand him. He is falling in love right now, in this moment, as the snow makes tiny declarations to cover them in specks of white.

_I love ya, I think. Because I understand ya._ And he cannot resist loving him when he truly understands him. Fear is difficult to grapple with, the possibility of anything to come always at its heels. He feels it tug at the strongest parts of him, feels it push and pull at his resolve as though it were clay dough, reduced to some juvenile thing. Casting feelings aside should be considered child’s play to Atsumu’s standards, but this feels like a crooked thing, so deformed so as to be unrecognizable. Did loving equate to this? He didn’t know where to begin unravelling. To bend yourself in awry angles and spread yourself thin? He knew he was going about it in a taxing way, but he could not bear to speak of his love to whom he had it all for without reducing it to a day’s frivolity.

“I’ve been actively working on myself,” Shōyō begins, “and seeing the results manifest, and the consequences of it, which is pretty generous. I can’t help but feel that maybe I deserve this. These good things.” They walk in silence before he continues, Atsumu tuned in to the sound of his pensive voice, patient.

“When I had done nothing, I had nothing, Atsumu-san. But now, I have everything,” Shōyō pauses, looking to Atsumu now, eyes boring into his, “and more.”

Glory, glory, glory to the ink blue hour of the night that shows them what Shōyō is. His pulchritude is most apparent when the source recognizes it himself, when he knows that it is through his own initiative that he thrives. It, in turn, fills Atsumu with insight, adorning what truth he already knows of Shōyō to exist.

Atsumu swallows the memory of that stare, of how it had lingered on him. The words were there but are they for him? It’s these questions that fit themselves into the crevices of his mind, already too familiar. An occasional thought occurrence.

A ripple, from within his ribcage, just below his clavicle. His heart is in a bottle and it’s been sent out to sea. The world swallows it whole.

“Ya deserve it, Shōyō.” A smile that contains a secret, theirs. An arm around the younger’s shoulder, firm. His words are clipped and just enough to its receiver but never enough to himself, in true Atsumu fashion. Shōyō is the type who needs just a little bit of kindness or none at all, to carry on, because he is a bright soul, built that way, Atsumu figured.

Slowly, like a ship built to be wrecked, Atsumu sinks into his ways. Bearing the moxie of a man standing on the epicenter amidst an earthquake, Atsumu blatantly stares at Shōyō, whose gaze is forward until he feels compelled to check the instigator of the skin-prickling feeling on the side of his face. They meet eyes, Atsumu amused, Shōyō bashful and seeking. The image of Shōyō’s expression transitioning from seeking to amused but still with the remnants of bashfulness, creates a sweet feeling Atsumu plunges right into as they pass a shop with yellow neon lights, bathing them in its soft glow.

When he’d looked at Shōyō, he’d done so with muted desire, pulling a veil over the magnitude of it. Sometimes he’d resort to these nondescript ways of exercising his longing. Shōyō is acutely aware of his frivolous nature. What’s one remark or one playful stare going to do to him? He is unfazed, for the most part. Other times, Atsumu would successfully garner a reaction out of him, the younger clearly taken by his words, walking the line between candor and disguise, lingering there. Sometimes, he gets too comfortable; won’t leave. Atsumu would think him to be dewy-eyed, but that was back when he didn’t know any better. Because he knows just where Atsumu is and goes to meet him. Because Shōyō isn’t dewy-eyed but knowing and spunky. Shōyō can see right through him, gaze piercing him; the truth reflected in his eyes, it makes Atsumu attempt to gulp it all back down.

Shōyō is looking at him like that right now. It’s only a matter of seconds before Atsumu casts his eyes elsewhere, heart fatigued with yearning. Lips paralyzed by the feeling, he lets the quiet of the night take over. They pass by more shops as vehicles pass them by on the road, and all Atsumu can think about is confessing. Some ideas are born out of thin air, but he trusts this one’s always been at the back of his mind, marinating.

Osamu would make fun of him, because for all Atsumu’s hubris, fear still has a way of bending him out of shape, his spine all wrong. He wants to tell his twin brother that this has been his lone concern for some time now. That this fear is not like one he had endured before. That he refuses to think past the possibility of a rejection because the way it burns is so different from the way he burns when Shōyō looks at him with adoration. It’s agonizing, it’s something he shies away from but always falls right into. He wonders if he thinks about confessing often and comes to the conclusion that he does, for a fact, do. And when he does, he thinks, _Huh. Guess I’ve always been eager to make my love known._ After all, it’s only been a matter of time.

So he looks at Shōyō and asks himself: how does it feel to be seen?

“You’ve been looking at me the whole evening, just straight up staring,” Shōyō whispers through a giggle, leaning into him to speak through his scarf.

“Why are ya whispering?” Atsumu asks, teasingly, through a whisper of his own, looking down to meet Shōyō’s eyes gazing up at him.

“I don’t know. The night is so serene.” This time, it’s him who continues to stare, almost expecting Atsumu to lead them to their conversation’s end. Atsumu makes a beeline for his courage.

“There’s something I want to tell ya.” He nudges him on the shoulder.

“Great!” Shōyō skips down the path they’re taking. “What is it?” he asks, looking back at him. The image makes Atsumu’s heart gush with warmth.

_How does it feel to be seen?_ “I love ya,” Atsumu says, walking in stride, catching up to him. "I’ve loved ya for some time now." His voice is steady, his words concise.

Shōyō smiles. “Me too.” They’ve slowed to a stop, standing under a street lamp at a deserted part of the city this time of night.

Atsumu laughs, fists clenching in his pockets from being overcome with joy. Tears prick his eyes and he blinks, as though checking to see if the source of those words truly stands before him, directing his attention to Atsumu, of all people. Shōyō’s unwavering eyes on him say yes.

"I've known for a while now," Shōyō states with ease, and the way he looks at Atsumu is like welcoming him home.

Atsumu thinks about the significance of gazes, how they've come to tell his stories, and, in their own ways, Shōyō's. He thinks about the absence of words in the presence of love, how it manifested in different ways and how in his yearning, he had not been as alone as he thought he was. That Shōyō had been there with him, watching him grow into the sensation, as he had watched him.

_How does it feel to be something to believe in?_ “And ya didn’t talk?” Atsumu asks, jokingly, turning so that he and Shōyō are facing each other.

“Why would I? You were busy figuring it out.” And isn’t it so like him to know? A distant part of Atsumu is infuriated at how receptive Shōyō is to him and how he had failed to realize the breadth of it until the last moment. But mostly, there is wonder, that all this time, he had existed in such a way that meant being attuned to Atsumu's thoughts and feelings.

Atsumu laughs. He’s been doing that a lot tonight. He feels so happy.

"C'mere, hug me."

"Now you're forward?" Shōyō asks and takes a step towards him anyway. When they hug, their arms wrap around each other in unison, Atsumu interlocking his fingers at Shōyō's spine.

"I'm gonna kiss ya now."

"You do realize you can just kiss me without forewarning, right? You know, I'd let you kiss me whenever."

Atsumu exhales a laugh before taking a breath, almost strained. "Don't say that. Don't say things like that to me." On the contrary, he loves it when Shōyō knows better than him, it's just another part of him being introduced to Atsumu.

"Sorry, it's just the easiest thing in the world. Telling you the truth."

Atsumu groans, squeezing Shōyō in his arms, leaning into him so that their noses touch. He's enamored of him.

Shōyō gently rubs his nose on Atsumu's; an eskimo kiss, with the snow descending upon their shut lids and lashes. It stirs a honeyed feeling within Atsumu, garnering a laugh cut short by the intensity the moment bears.

Atsumu tips his head back and slots his mouth against Shōyō's. _How does it feel to be something to believe in?_ Kisses him with all the warmth he had harbored in the presence of the bright soul. _It feels sweet, like a winter's kiss, like Shōyō's lips._


End file.
